To Where Will You Run
by VBreadergirl123
Summary: Clint and Natasha's first mission together. But is Natasha really loyal to SHIELD, or is she hiding something?
1. Chapter 1

**And welcome readers, to my CLINTASHA STORY! This one's not as Clintasha-y as the next one will be, but it is sort of. Anyways, this is the first of a two-part series about their first and "last" missions together (last as in last one before the Avengers). I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Clint knew that whatever Fury was calling him into his office for, it couldn't be good. He'd been getting so much backlash from _everyone_ at SHIELD about the choice he'd made to spare and bring in the deadly assassin, Natasha Romanoff. Phil, Fury, the Council, everyone was just waiting for her to snap and go rogue, just to prove Clint wrong. He _knew_ he made the right choice though. He didn't know how, but he knew.

He knocked on the door of Fury's office and waited for him to call him in. When he did, he tentatively cracked the door open and saw Phil already in there waiting for him. A mission assignment, then. He opened the door all the way to walk in and saw another guest for the meeting. Natasha Romanoff herself.

"Sit down, Barton," Fury said, indicating the final, empty seat in the room, the one that normally remained unoccupied when Clint went in to get briefed for missions. He sat, looking at Phil for answers. His slightly worried and slightly confused expression told him that he had a hunch as to what this meeting was for, but he wasn't entirely sure. And if Phil was right, Clint had a feeling that whatever Phil was predicting wasn't going to be entirely pleasant for him.

Fury took his time before speaking, and when he did, his eyes were on Clint. "Barton, we have a mission for you."

Clint could practically _feel _the annoyance radiating off of him, as Fury was still upset that Clint's "call" had required him to give Clint the really crappy assignments that no one wanted. Clint could also feel the confusion rolling off of Natasha—if this was Clint's assignment, why was _she_ here?

"We're sending you on the Kansas assignment."

This statement alone sent Phil's eyebrows up his forehead and him shooting out of his chair. "Sir, that assignment is nearly _suicide_—" Fury held his hand up, and Phil shut up, slowly lowering himself back into his seat.

Fury pulled out the assignment sheet and continued. "We believe—actually, we _know_—that there is a former HYDRA agent hiding out in Kansas in a fortified base that we have just recently located. We're sending you in to take him and as many as his goons out as you can."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "That does, in fact, sound like a suicide mission, _sir_," he said, emphasizing the "sir" that Fury had only recently asked him to add in.

"For a solo operative, yes. But we aren't sending you in as a solo op this time," he said while looking pointedly at Natasha. Both Clint's and Natasha's eyes widened. Neither of them liked working with other people. "_You_ brought her in Clint, so of all of our agents, _you _should be willing to trust her, plus you'd be the one she'd be most likely to trust. And for _you_—" a sharp glance at Natasha, "—this ought to be a chance to prove your loyalty to SHIELD." Fury took a deep breath, knowing that of anything he was going to say, this would be the biggest ego boost for the both of them, whether or not they needed it. "And, of all our agents, you two are the most likely to actually be successful in this mission."

"By successful, you mean not dead," Clint added. It wasn't a question, and Fury knew it. He nodded and pulled out a second Kansas file to give to Natasha. "Read up, wheels up tomorrow morning at five." The two agents, realizing they were dismissed, got up and walked back to their rooms.

Fury sighed as they left. "Phil, I know your agent doesn't work well with other agents—" he held up his hand as Phil began to talk over him, "—but we can't send Romanoff out by herself yet. Besides, what better way for Barton to dig his way out of the hole he's thrown himself into and Romanoff to prove herself than to put them together?" Phil had to give Fury that point.

"Plus, no one else would ever want to deal with either of them," Phil added with a smirk.

As he stood up to walk out the door and check on Clint, Fury called out to him. "Coulson, until she's better situated, I have decided to make you Romanoff's handler as well," he said. Phil suppressed a somewhat amused groan. Another irrationally stubborn agent to keep in line.

* * *

Clint flopped down on his bed and flipped open the file. He was the only one in the room, ever. He had originally shared another room with about four other agents, but he snuck out so often to sleep elsewhere that Phil had just found him his own dorm.

_Henry Greiber_. _HYDRA agent, presumed to be working on large nuclear weapons to restart the war between HYDRA and the world and pick up where Schmidt left off_.

Clint rolled his eyes. So they were basically going after an incredibly violent psychopath who believed that the world was his to rule. Great. As he read on, he learned that there was estimated to be about eighty to a hundred soldiers, mercenaries, whatever guarding the compound, so it would be a challenge to even get in, much less get out.

He heard a knock on his door, and Phil walked in. "You weren't kidding when you said this mission was nearly suicidal."

Phil chuckled. "If anyone's going to be able to do it, it'll be you. And Romanoff." He sat down on the bed next to Clint. "How well do you even know her?"

Clint shook his head. "I don't," he said. "We never talk. The only time we spend time together is when we spar, and that's only because we're the only ones who give each other any competition. I've actually _lost_ a few times to her," he said with a grin. "She's good," he admitted.

Phil stood up. "Finish reading and get some sleep. You're flying tomorrow until we get to the drop zone." Clint's face lit up. He loved flying the plane to the safe house. One small consolation to the fact that Phil would have to stay behind.

* * *

Natasha was in the middle of reading the same file when Phil knocked on her door and let himself in. "Do they _want_ to get us killed?" she asked, obviously upset with the odds she found in the file.

"Jury's still out on that one," he said, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work, and something was obviously bothering her. "Are you all right?"

She blew out a breath and nodded. "Yeah, just tired," she said. Phil wasn't convinced, but he didn't know her well enough to pressure an answer out of her.

"Okay. Finish reading and get some sleep," he said as he closed her door behind him.

Natasha picked up the file again after he left. _Henry Greiber_. She had seen that name before. _Where_ had she seen that name before? She could have sworn she'd done something with that name before, and what scared her was that she couldn't remember.

* * *

**Well, there is chapter 1! I hope you guys liked it, and I hope they were relatively in character. So, one reason I'm excited (and I assume you will be excited, too) about this story is that ****_I ALREADY WROTE IT ALL_****. It's completely done! So my plan is to update about every day or every other day-ish, but the updates will be must faster than some of my other stories have been, so that's good!**

**Anyways, leave a review please to let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome back, readers! Like I said, I promised to update almost every day, so here's chapter 2!**

* * *

Natasha walked towards the jet with her bag slung over her back. She really didn't have to pack a whole lot, considering they were going to a safe house before they were going on the mission and a lot of their things were already there. Clint was already at the jet with Coulson, eating what looked like a cinnamon roll.

"Clint, you have to eat something _good_ for you, for god's sake," Phil said exasperatedly, despite knowing his complaints would be falling on deaf ears. Clint always ate like this the morning of a mission—said if he had to eat crappy food until he got back, he could eat whatever he wanted before he left. Natasha had eaten a yogurt and fruit breakfast parfait from the dining hall.

Clint turned to look at her when she got there. "All set?" he asked. She nodded, tossing her bag into the plane and turning to Coulson.

"All right," he said, "since I'm not going with you, I am going to be—"

"Incredibly picky about how often we check in over comms," Clint interrupted with a grin.

Phil glared at him. "Yes, I am going to ask you to give me check ups every two hours until you go in." He handed them each their earpiece, a small one that was designed to evade notice. "Go get on the plane and test them, and I'll be on in a minute."

Clint, knowing he would be doing most of the flying, practically skipped onto the plane, while Natasha took her time.

"Romanoff," Phil called out. She turned around to look at him, worried that she had done something wrong that she may not have been aware of. "Just so you know, at least for now, Fury has made me your handler." _Like I am with Clint_. "So if you ever need anything, I'm here if you do." She could tell the words were hard for him, because while he was willing to back Clint up, he didn't completely trust her yet, and it showed. She nodded and turned to walk up on the plane to test the comms.

She heard Clint talking with Coulson on the plane, so obviously his worked. She took her turn, and when it proved successful, Coulson joined the two of them on the plane. Clint gleefully hopped into the pilot's seat and prepared for takeoff.

Natasha took a seat across from Coulson and settled in for the flight, which was only going to be a few hours—it wasn't across an ocean. She hated to admit this, even to herself, but she was nervous. She had never done work with a partner before, and so much was riding on this mission. Plus, she _still_ couldn't recall why she knew Greiber's name, and it was making her more and more uneasy.

A few short hours later, Clint was calling Coulson up to take the plane's controls so they could jump out over the safe house. Clint came over beside her and pulled on his parachute as she was doing the same.

"Now remember," Phil shouted over. "Once you land and every two hours before and after you go into the compound I want updates!"

"Yes, yes, we _know_, Phil," Clint retorted with a grin. "Call you when we land."

And Clint jumped out of the plane with Natasha close behind him.

* * *

They landed a few minutes later, both of them falling lightly to the ground and landing on their feet as they had practiced so, so many times. Clint slid a pair of sunglasses on and put his hand to his earpiece.

"Coulson, we're down."

"Great. Good luck, and let me know what your plan is and when to come back for you."

"No problem," finished Clint as he clicked off the earpiece. He turned to Natasha. "Come on, we've got to get to the safe house before we can plan anything. Plus, I'm _hungry_." Natasha rolled her eyes, but set off a couple steps behind Clint, who obviously knew where he was going.

They walked for a while in silence until Clint surprised her when he turned around and started walking backwards, asking, "So, what's your favorite food?"

She just stared at him and gaped for a moment, nearly stopping in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"What's your favorite food? If we're going to be partners, I'd like to know a little bit more about you than the fact that we tried to kill each other." Clint looked amused. "Mine's definitely sugar," he said. "But Coulson never lets me have any." He sounded ridiculously like a little kid trapped in a grown man's body.

Natasha paused to think about the question. No one had actually ever asked her before. Clint continued to stare at her as he walked backwards, impressing her as he managed to evade obstacles without tripping over anything. "Strawberries," she finally answered.

Clint smiled, pleased that he got an answer out of her. "Strawberries, got it. Color?"

Again, Natasha had to think. "Blue."

"Hey, same here," Clint responded. "Movie?"

"Don't have one," Natasha answered quickly. "Haven't seen enough to pick a favorite. I haven't really seen any," she said as she thought about it. She saw Clint's jaw drop.

"Okay, we're going to have to fix that. Mine's probably tied between Batman and Harry Potter. Oh look, here we are!"

Natasha looked at him, surprised. He was still walking backwards. "Come on," he said. "I want to eat!" He put his hand to the earpiece. "Coulson, we're here, and I'm hungry. We'll start staking out after I eat and we sleep."

Natasha didn't hear the response, but she saw Clint laugh and could tell he enjoyed pushing some of Coulson's buttons.

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**So, if you are reading this, then you have stayed with my story to read chapter 2, and that makes me happy because that means I'm obviously doing at least decently. I hope you liked this chapter :)**

**Reviews please :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay, you're all still here! I'm glad you liked the last chapter :) Thanks so much to all my reviewers out there, and here's chapter 3. Sorry I didn't update last night, I had volleyball and didn't have time. But anyway, this one's more of a fluffy build-up chapter, but more action is coming in the one after this. Enjoy :)**

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After Natasha had grabbed an apple and Clint had found some of those oatmeal breakfast cookies that were as close to sweets as he was going to get here, Clint announced that it was time to sleep.

"Who wants first watch?" asked Natasha.

Clint rolled his eyes. "It's a _safe house_, Romanoff. The point of a safe house is that it's _safe_. No one needs to keep watch." He went into the bathroom and changed into a pair of sweatpants and ratty old t-shirt. Natasha looked at him blankly. "Go to _sleep_," he said.

Clint plopped down on the couch, indicating that Natasha should take the bed. She sat down on it slowly, not changing out of her uniform. She saw Clint grin sleepily at her, then close his eyes.

He trusted her. Sure, she had passed all of SHIELD's stupid tests, but he trusted her with his life right now—trusted her not to come up to him and kill him in his sleep. Granted, he probably never _completely_ slept just like she never did, but still, he was proving it to her.

She slid a knife out of her belt. Then she curled up on the bed, on top of the covers, and placed the knife under her pillow with her hand wrapped around the hilt in a death grip. If he could trust her, she could trust him.

She slept.

* * *

Clint closed his eyes, and flinched when he heard the sound of metal being unsheathed. _She's not going to kill you, you moron. If she was, she would have done it already_. And no attack came, so Clint calmed himself down and slept like a baby.

He really hoped he didn't snore again.

* * *

Morning came all too soon for Natasha, who threw her arm over her face as the sun blinded the back of her eyelids. She smelled something cooking.

"Rise and shine, Romanoff," Clint sing-songed from the tiny little kitchenette they had in the safe house. She forced her eyes open and saw Clint attempting to flip pancakes over the stove. "I give you no guarantees that these will taste good," he said. He gave her a once over. "God, did you sleep in your clothes? That could _not _have been comfortable."

Clint kept up the endless chatter as Natasha slid out of bed. She noticed that Clint loved to talk, but he never really said all that much—didn't tell her anything about himself other than the whole favorites thing. He never shut up, but she didn't know a thing about him. She also didn't care to ask at the moment.

She came over to the little bar table where Clint had put the stacks of pancakes and coffee, and had picked up her fork when Clint gestured for her to wait. He brought over a few slices of strawberries and put them on top. "Okay, go ahead."

Natasha didn't know where Clint had managed to find strawberries or whipped cream in this very limited pantry, but she ate her strawberry—albeit _burned_—pancakes, as he drowned his in whipped cream and nearly inhaled them. He tossed the dirty plates and forks into the sink, then announced that he was going to change. He came back out of the bathroom in gear. "Ready to go stake out that compound?"

She nodded, and followed him outside. "Are we _walking_ there, Barton?" she asked.

Clint let out a dramatic sigh. "No faith in me yet, Romanoff? Follow me," he said, and led her towards a hidden shed. Yanking the heavy door up, he revealed two fancy looking motorcycles. "Please tell me you know how to ride," he teased.

Natasha glared at him. "Of _course_ I can ride a motorcycle." She glanced around the shed, found the key, and started up the motorcycle. "Are you coming?"

He smirked. "Well, I have to, unless you know where we're going?"

"How do _you_ know where we're going," she asked.

"All _sorts_ of villainous men and women have come to this compound. It's in the middle of nowhere. This was where I had my first SHIELD mission," he replied. "Let's go."

As they pulled out, Natasha let Barton lead them towards the compound. She noticed that he didn't have his bow on him, but assumed that it was because this wasn't actually the mission, just a stake out. She also hoped that he called Coulson (_of course he did_, she thought_, how could he forget?_), because she completely forgot. She asked him, and could hear his grin from back there. "Of _course_, do you think Coulson would let me rest if I hadn't?"

They sped down the dirt road, Natasha matching Clint's breakneck speed, both of them disregarding any safety precautions they could take—no helmets, and almost never applying the breaks. It was as if they were driving suicidally, and it put Natasha on an adrenaline high. The wind rushed through her hair and she would have closed her eyes to feel the wind on her face if it hadn't meant sudden death.

In the end, they were careless. They paid no attention to their surroundings, at least not the minute details that could have been important, and only took two guns each—for them, it was like being unarmed. So it was really their own fault when they didn't notice the sniper up ahead, watching them through the scope and taking aim.

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**So there's that one :) Sorry to leave you on that sort of cliff-hangery note (I'm really not sorry). Anyways, like I said, there will be more action next chapter. See you later!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay, here's an action chapter! I promise something is going to happen in this chapter. I'm actually really excited to get your reactions from this chapter. Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers, I'm so glad you like it so far. Enjoy chapter 4!**

* * *

The gunshot startled both agents—an incredible feat. Clint snapped himself to attention to try and determine the source of the shot while glancing quickly behind him to make sure his new partner wasn't dead already.

_Bang_. Another shot rang out, and this one made impact in his motorcycle's tire. At the speed he was going, he lost control. At the sudden slowing, he was slammed into the handle bars and felt his ribs crack. The motorcycle lifted up and flipped through the air, and at first Clint was convinced he was going to die, that this was it. But he snapped himself out of it and focused, and, timing it perfectly, he curled in on himself and rolled off the motorcycle, landing on his shoulder. _That was going to hurt_. He kept rolling through the dirt, and when he stopped, he saw Natasha had pulled her motorcycle to the side of the road and come over to check on him.

She held out a hand to pull him up and he stood, wincing at the pain in his ribs. At least she had grabbed his uninjured arm. "You okay?" she asked. He nodded. "Good," she said. "Because there's about thirty of them all the way around us, and I've got two guns. You?"

"Two guns," he said, cursing himself for not bringing more weapons. He closed his eyes. "We're screwed." Even in his best shape, it would mean that each of them had to take on fifteen men probably at once with no knowledge of their capabilities or weapons.

"So we take out as many as we can," Natasha said. Clint gaped at her. "What? This was supposed to be a suicide mission, wasn't it? This is the suicide part," she said matter-of-factly. Clint nodded and pulled out one of his guns. They just had to pull the men in far enough to engage in hand-to-hand, and they'd have a fighting chance. Clint dragged the two motorcycles over to them and put them on either side of them to act as a barricade. It would make it harder to get shot, but it also meant they had no where to run.

They heard the bullets start pinging off of the motorcycles, and Clint prayed that they wouldn't be permanently damaged—he _liked_ these motorcycles, dammit! After five minutes, the shooting stopped and the men charged their fortress.

Clint looked at Natasha, and could tell she was preparing herself. "I go left, you go right. One, two, _three_." They leapt up from behind the motorcycles and immediately went on the offensive. Clint jumped over his cycle and engaged two men at once, dodging fists and kicks aimed at him with ease. He knocked the first two down in a matter of seconds and turned to face off with the next ones. One of them swung at his head, but he ducked quickly, and kneed the man in the groin as he came back up. He swung around and kicked the man behind him while punching a third one in the jaw, causing him to jerk back, stunned, long enough for Clint to take a quick breath and tense himself for the next bout.

He took hits—they both did. Clint was sporting a split lip, a gash down his leg, and a sprained wrist, while Natasha was nursing a black eye and probably a dislocated shoulder. But they somehow managed to take all thirty down. They worked well together—not perfectly, but after sparring with one another so often, they knew a decent amount of the other's capabilities, enough to know how the other fights and at least attempt to cover them. They looked around at the damage—twelve dead men and eighteen unconscious ones. "Nice work," said Clint. Natasha nodded.

Suddenly, something hit Clint in the leg. Not a bullet. _A dart_. Clint felt something heavy course through his veins—not enough to knock him out, but enough to bring him to the ground and make him an easy kill. It brought him to his knees, and he glanced around rapidly to find the source.

Natasha already had a gun pulled on the man coming towards them. He matched the man in the picture in their debrief packets—Henry Greiber. He didn't _look_ all that impressive, but he had to be to have so many goons at his disposal. He was staring at Natasha with an amused look on his face, walking towards her while applauding slowly.

"Well, well, Miss Romanova," he said. "I see you _finally_ completed your last task."

* * *

Natasha was shocked into a temporary silence. She could feel Clint gaping at her as he tried to fight to stay awake, and she tore through her memories of her life before SHIELD to try and remember _what_ this man was talking about.

And she stopped cold before slipping a mask onto her face. _Of course_. She was an idiot. But she could act. "Sorry it took me so long," she explained. "SHIELD is nearly _impossible_ to infiltrate."

"As I am well aware," Greiber replied. "But finally you came through with my SHIELD agent. I must be honest, I was getting worried. But I knew you'd return for your payment—the Black Widow _never_ leaves a job unfinished."

Natasha could still feel Clint staring at her in semi-conscious shock, but she knew she couldn't acknowledge him even the tiniest bit. Still, a plan was forming in the back of her mind. "If you don't mind," she asked, "would you let me help interrogate him?" She said it was a nod towards Clint, who had slumped further onto the ground. She was desperate to let him know that she still wanted a second chance, that she wasn't the traitor she knew he thought she was. But Greiber would see the look in her eyes and then she couldn't ever save him. And saving him was the least she could do after everything he'd done for her. So she stayed in character. "I'm well versed in interrogation techniques," she added.

Greiber grinned with anticipatory glee. "Why, of course," he replied. "We'll give you a ride back to the compound, and you can wash up before you start. If you get info out of him fast, I'll even tack a little extra onto your payment."

She glanced around. "Do you have any rope? We need to tie him up." Greiber pulled out a rope and a pair of handcuffs, holding out both in a question of which she needed. "He's out of it, rope will be fine," she said, grabbing the rope and walking over to Clint. She pulled his arms behind his back and tied them together, praying this was a knot he knew how to undo. "Let's go," she said.

* * *

**And there's that. Unexpected? Annoyed at the ending? Horrible? Mind-blowingly wonderful? I have no idea if you all like this, I've only gotten a few reviews. PLEASE leave me a review to let me know what you think so far, I wanna know if you like it!**

**By the way, I don't know if I mentioned this yet, but this story is only seven chapters (groans of sadness, yes I know). So really, we're already halfway through!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yay, here's chapter 5! I'm so glad you all like it so far! This one's got a lot of action, too :) Enjoy!**

**PS, thanks for all the lovely reviews! You've made me sooooo happy!**

* * *

They got to the compound and half-dragged Clint through the halls. In the back of his mind, Clint was surprised that they hadn't blind-folded him, but he was too busy memorizing their path. _Left, right, third right, second left, left, right._ It wasn't too incredibly complicated, but Clint was still sort of woozy. He was tossed unceremoniously into a cell, and the door was slammed closed.

Wonderful. Now he was left only with a relatively working brain fighting off the remains of whatever they drugged him with and his own thoughts. A few things occurred to him at once.

One, Natasha was a traitor. She had planned this entire elaborate facade of wanting a second chance just to finish a job and get paid. This meant Clint had to contact Phil to warn him that she went rogue, so if he couldn't off her, then SHIELD could. Two, he was actually still capable of contacting Phil because he still had his comms. Natasha hadn't let anyone know about them. _She could have just forgotten,_ he reminded himself. Three, he was tied up. With rope, and a knot that any idiot could untie. Natasha tied it herself. He started working at it as he kept thinking. Four, he wasn't blind-folded as he walked through the compound. Natasha would have known to blindfold him. She wasn't a first-class assassin for nothing. And finally, five: she was still here. Most assassins would have finished their job and left, but she stuck around. Presumably to help interrogate him.

So he had a choice. He could call her in to SHIELD and get her automatically moved to the high priority list—meaning she'd get killed within the week. Or he could wait it out and call at the last minute if he had to. She could be acting, and he could kill her for no reason. Or she might not be, and she could go back and kill everyone at SHIELD and go back to the life she had run from. The question was—was he willing to take that chance?

He put a hand to his comm.

* * *

Natasha stood in the bathroom getting changed. She had just gotten out of the shower, and felt refreshed, even though she was still tense. Greiber had ordered her to come to Clint's cell as soon as she was done, but she planned to take a bit of a detour on the way.

She remembered now. She was so stupid for not remembering, but she remembered. She had taken a few jobs in between this one, so it wasn't as if it was the last job she took. But she remembered him asking her to bring in a SHIELD agent. He wanted security codes, information, anything he could get out of them. He wanted the weaponry SHIELD was in control of. And now he thought she was going to help him torture that information out of Clint.

She figured by now Clint had called her in as a rogue agent. After all, she hadn't warned Greiber about his comm, or hers for that matter, but she wasn't going to call _herself_ in. She was going to have to run again. The thought made her sad—she had been looking forward to making a new start at SHIELD. She didn't want to have to run from them. But she had no choice if she wanted to save Clint.

She pulled her boots back on, and walked out of the bathroom. Someone approached her as if to escort her, but she glared at him. "I know the way," she growled, putting as much venom into the words as she could. It worked—the man scurried away.

She walked down the hallway slower than normal, but she glanced down every turn looking for a certain room. _There_, she saw, only a hallway away from Clint's cell. The security room. They'd probably seen her sneaking around on the tapes. Great.

She reached to her side, relieved that she kept her guns during the first fight. She drew one, then kicked the door to the control room open. Taking in the shocked faces, she fired off all her rounds. Each shot met its target, and four of the five people in the room dropped dead. The only man left wasn't even a man—he was a young, fourteen year old boy staring at Natasha with undisguised terror.

She knew she should kill him—she couldn't leave any witnesses. But he looked so young, so _innocent_. Was that what Clint had seen in her? Why he had saved her? How could she deny him a second chance? She sighed, and approached the boy. He shrunk against the wall as she aimed her gun at him, but at the last minute, she spun it around and hit him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun, knocking him out cold.

Natasha looked rapidly around the room for the button she was looking for. Every villain's lair had one. She spotted the big red button a few minutes later, a button on the wall covered protectively by glass casing to prevent accidental pressing. _Self-Destruct_. There was a clock above it—convenient. One could set the time they wanted until self-destruction, allowing them enough time to gather what they needed and get away. Natasha clicked the clock to five minutes, lifted the case, and slammed down on the button.

Their orders were to take out as many men as possible. She thought this would be most of them. She pulled her other gun out and exited the room, glancing behind her at the last minute to the unconscious boy on the floor. She prayed he would wake up in time to get himself out. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw him stir, and left the room to get to Clint.

She walked down the hallway with her gun half-concealed in her hand at her side, praying she wouldn't run into any suspicious guards. Thankfully, there weren't any. She made it to the door of Clint's cell where there were two guards waiting. They nodded at her, knowing they should let her in. She waited until one of them had drawn the key out to lunge at them. In moments, she had silently snapped both of their necks and picked up the drop key. She shoved the key in the lock and opened the door.

* * *

**And there you have chapter 5! I hope you enjoyed it! Leave me a review, and I'll see you soon!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Yay! Chapter 6! Thank you all my reviewers, you make me so excited to keep posting.**

**So I am so incredibly sorry that I did not post yesterday. I was at a volleyball tournament ALL DAY. As in, get up at 5:30 to get there by 8 to play until 4:30 to get to dinner by 6:30 and then get home by 8:30 and finish homework. I also passed out at 10. So yeah. Sorry about that. Enjoy chapter 6 though!**

* * *

The door opened at Greiber walked in to Clint's cell. Clint had regained completely cognizance and was able to think clearly by this point, and had also freed his hands from their bindings. He kept them behind his back in an attempt to let Greiber believe he was still bound.

"Welcome, agent of SHIELD," Greiber said, with a vicious glint in his eyes. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay so far." Clint kept silent, glaring at the man with all he had. "Miss Romanova will be joining us soon, as long as you cooperate long enough to stay alive long enough for her to get here," he said as he drew a knife. "I hope you will accommodate me in that."

Greiber approached Clint and rammed him up against the wall. "Tell me, agent of SHIELD, did she make you fall in love with her? Because that's what that tricky bitch does. She makes millions fall for her with her appearance, and then _boom_, every single one of those men end up dead. Just like you will soon," he said. He pressed the knife up to Clint's neck. "Now tell me," he said. "What do you know about SHIELD that could help me?"

Clint remained silent, tensing as Greiber pushed the knife against him hard enough to draw blood. "I told Natalia she could help us, but she'll be _so_ very disappointed if you die too soon," he said. "Come on, tell me something. Anything would be useful."

Clint spat in his eye, forcing himself not to lash out. He didn't know how many guards were outside, so there was no point in trying to make a break for it yet. He wanted to get out, but he wasn't _suicidal_.

Greiber wiped his eye. "Wonderful. Natalia got me a stubborn one." He pulled the knife away and hit Clint, _hard,_ in his already probably-broken ribs. The air was punched out of him and he doubled over in pain without a sound. He heard the door creak. "Ah, that must be her now," said Greiber. "Good thing you came quickly, Miss Romanova, your friend is being a bit stubborn." He dropped Clint. "Perhaps you'd like to try?" he asked, turning to face Natasha. His eyes widened as he saw the gun in her hand. It was the last expression on his face.

_Bang_.

The gun fired and the bullet sliced straight through Greiber's heart, killing him instantly. Clint watched it all through tunnel vision, trying to regain his breathing ability. Natasha hurried over to him. "Barton, you've gotta get up," she said. "This building's going up in flames in—" she looked at her watch "—three and a half minutes. We have to go, _now_."

She pulled him to his feet, and yanked him out the door. He was breathing relatively easy now, even though his ribs hurt like hell. They turned the first corner, him following Natasha, and suddenly ran into her as she stopped. Then she dropped to the floor, a knife in her stomach. He looked up and saw a fourteen year old boy staring down at his hand in shock, like he couldn't believe he had just stabbed Natasha Romanoff. Then, he bolted.

Clint didn't follow, crouching on the floor to look at her. Natasha looked up at him with an expression of pure pain on her face. She had to have been stabbed before, she knew what this felt like. This looked worse.

"P-poison," she grated out. Clint's eyes widened. The knife had been laced with poison that was now lancing through her stomach and climbing through her veins. _Where the hell did that kid find a poisoned knife?_ he thought, but pushed it to the back of his mind to deal with the problem at hand. "G-go," she said. _Go, as in leave her here_, her words didn't say. Clint ignored the unspoken meaning and scooped her up into his arms as gently as he could. She groaned in pain as he heaved her up and started running through the halls on the path he had memorized. He had maybe a minute and a half left, and he had to get them as far away from the building as he could.

Thanking any god there may be that they had missed any guards, he burst out into the yard, his gaze locking on to an abandoned motorcycle. He thought quickly, and set her down on the motorcycle, climbing on behind her. She slumped against his back, one hand pressed hard against her stomach where the knife had been, trying to staunch the blood flow.

He pushed off and floored it, driving recklessly to get away from the building. After about twenty seconds of driving, he heard the explosion behind him, but he didn't even stop to look.

He reached up to his ear to flip his comm on. "Coulson."

"Dammit Clint, where have you been?" Phil's angry voice shouted over the earpiece. Clint winced.

"Lost connection. So, change of plans. We ran into a bit of a problem, and you had better get your asses back to the safe house in a matter of ten minutes or less. Romanoff needs poison treatment." Clint heard Phil calling out orders over the comm.

"Don't worry, Clint, we'll be there. Make sure she holds on until then. You've got some explaining to do."

Clint barked out a laugh. "Trust me, I know."

A few minutes later, they pulled into the safe house. Clint carried Natasha over to the couch and put her down, then walked over to the medicine cabinet to grab some bandages. He came back over and pulled her shirt up to expose the stab wound in her stomach and wrapped it.

"Why didn't you leave me?" Natasha whispered. "Can't go back."

_Can't go back_. She expected him to have called her in as a rogue.

"Didn't call you in," he explained. "Had a hunch you were acting. As far as SHIELD will ever know, this was all part of the plan. You remembered your history with this guy, and I posed as your captive to get in there and blow it up. SHIELD will never know that you didn't tell me, got it?" he asked, almost urgently. Natasha nodded faintly.

Clint sighed with relief as he heard the sound of the jet landing outside. "Time to go," he said, lifting her up again and carrying her outside. Praying that it would be soon enough to save her life.

* * *

**Woohoo! Chapter 6, here it is. That means the next chapter is the last one! We're so close to the ending, guys :)**

**See you soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Aww, guys, this is the last chapter :) It's sort of fluffy, so I hope you like it. This conversation is sort of the big starting point to Clint and Natasha's relationship in my mind, so I hope they stay in character.**

**Thanks again to all my reviews that have stuck with my story until the end. You make me so excited to write, and I hope you'll all read the next story after this one, too.**

**PS: To reviewer Avamys: Very good, excellent job for noticing :) As this is the last chapter in _this_ story, I believe that should answer that part of your question, but stay on the lookout!**

**Enjoy the ending!**

* * *

Natasha blinked awake in the hospital bed in SHIELD. Her stomach had a burning soreness, but other than that she was in one piece. Her next thought was that she should be dead. A number of times over—not only should she have died from the poison, she should be on SHIELD's hit list. Again. But she wasn't because Clint Barton saved her life. Again.

A nurse came over to her when she saw Natasha had woken up. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked.

"How long do I have to stay here?" Natasha asked.

The nurse sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, god, you're going to behave like Clint, aren't you. Well, I am kindly going to ask you to _please_ not plan elaborate escape attempts like he does. We will be eternally grateful."

Natasha smirked. "But really, how long?"

"If you feel up to it, you can leave tonight as long as you_ take it easy_," she said, emphasizing the last part. Obviously Clint didn't stick to that requirement, either. Natasha nodded. Anything to get out of the hospital wing.

A few hours later, Phil walked in. "Romanoff, how are you?" Natasha shrugged, and Phil sighed. "You can talk to me, Romanoff. I won't bite. Not you at least. Clint told me about the plan you guys used, and I nearly bit _his_ head off," Phil said with a grin. "It was a great plan, though. I just would have liked to know about it before hand."

"We... didn't think you'd let us do it," Natasha hedged.

Phil nodded. "I probably wouldn't have." He paused. "Thank you for keeping him safe through that," he finally said. Natasha looked up at him and saw he was being completely sincere. She didn't think anyone had ever thanked her for anything before, so she shrugged again. "The nurse said you can be released after dinner. I'll see you later," he said, leaving as dinner was brought in.

She ate her dinner in silence, and nearly leapt out of the bed in order to leave the hospital. She heard one of the nurses mutter something along the lines of _just like Barton_, but she was already out the door. She needed to find Clint and ask him what game he was playing.

She peeked into his dorm room and found it empty, so she wandered around SHIELD's compound for a while until she ran into Coulson.

"Good to see you up, Romanoff," he said with a smile. "Looking for Clint?" She nodded. "I think he's on the roof." She nodded her thanks and went in search of the nearest stairwell.

* * *

Clint was sitting on the edge of the roof, just looking out over the city. He had a thick bandage wrapped around his waist for his ribs and had a mountain of painkillers racing through his veins, but he and Coulson had managed to convince the hospital staff to let him out before he went stir crazy. He heard footsteps behind him tentatively walking towards him, and saw a form sit down next to him.

She looked out over the city, and they sat that way for a good ten minutes in silence. Just looking at the lights. Clint loved this view—the bright lights of the city at night under the stars relaxed him.

Finally, Natasha spoke. "What do you want from me?" she asked. Abrupt, straight to the point. Clint turned to look at her in confusion, and she repeated her question. "What do you _want_ from me? Why do you keep saving me?"

"I don't want anything from you," he said. "You reminded me of myself when I was sent to kill you. Phil offered me a second chance at SHIELD, and I figured you deserved the same."

Natasha thought back to the boy she saved, the one who turned around and stabbed her. Did he really deserve a second chance? Did she? What if _she_ had done what that boy had done, turned around and murdered Clint?

"But you did it twice more," she pressed forward. "You didn't call me in, and you brought me out of that building. Do you realize how many times over I should be dead? _What do you want?_" she ended in a desperate shout.

Clint looked at her—_really_ looked at her. She was at the same point he was when Phil brought him in. She believed that people only did good things because they wanted something in return. He had believed that for the longest time, until he had met Phil. Phil did good things because he liked Clint, not because he wanted anything.

"I don't want anything from you," Clint said slowly. "Coulson saved my life, and I'm going to tell you the same thing he told me. You don't owe me anything. If you really want to pay me back, then... pay it _forward_. Do something good for someone else. But you don't owe me a single thing."

Natasha looked over at Clint, and he saw in her eyes that she desperately wanted to believe that it was true. That she had finally found someone who didn't ask anything in return.

"We are partners," he said. "I'll save your life, you'll save mine. We won't be able to keep track if we tried, so let's not," he finished.

She smiled, a real, genuine smile, like she couldn't believe it. She turned back out to look at the city.

"Thank you," she finally said, so quietly that Clint almost didn't hear it. And they sat like that for a long time, two assassins staring out at the city lights while sitting under a sea of stars and trying, just for a moment, to only see the good in the world

* * *

**The end! I apologize if I made that a really cliche ending, but I felt like that was a conversation that the couple just _needed_ to have. Because you can tell in the Avengers that despite this, she still feels like she owes Clint, and she always will—he is the reason she even _got_ a second chance. But this is something I think assassins would have trouble dealing with, and it was important that they discussed it. So yeah, I'm rambling. But anyways, I hope you liked it :)**

**Leave me one more review, please? Pretty pretty please?**

**I hope to see you soon when I publish the second half of this series—the last mission before the Avengers. It's not written yet, but it has a title.**

**Drumroll, please...**

**"Under Shining Lights"**

**I should probably start writing that... See you (hopefully) soon!**

**-VB**


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